


Trigger Warning

by BleakCinema



Series: New Americana [3]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Awkward proposal, Co-Parenting, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, How is Frank the reasonable one?, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Matt's A+ Life Choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7268656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleakCinema/pseuds/BleakCinema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank takes Jack out on his first training mission without Matt's knowledge.  Matt finds out, they both say things they regret, and even a few things they don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trigger Warning

New Americana - Trigger Warning

  
  
  


“Frank.”

 

Frank Castle had long since given up believing in a merciful, loving God.  His days in the church were long gone.  Hearing that voice, though? 

 

It damn sure reminded him that there was a Devil.

 

“Francis Castiglione, if you do not leave  _ with my son _ in the next 30 seconds, I will throw you off this building.  I will throw you off this building and you will  _ let me  _ because I will do  _ so much worse  _ if you don’t _. _ ”

 

“Dad…” 

 

Jack piped up weakly from Frank’s side, sounding uneasy.  He’d never heard Matt sound so cold, so like stone.  He’d never heard his father that  _ angry _ .  Matt had never been a shouter, not really.  His ire was a seething, sneaking thing.  It was treacherous, like faults under a frozen lake; quiet and lurking, but with the full force of nature’s fury behind it.  Matt was a warm man, a compassionate man, a man so full of sacrificial love for a dying society that sometimes Frank worried he’d self-immolate under the weight of it.  That was part of what made his rages so damn intimidating.  They sucked up all that warmth and left behind nothing but the ragged edges of an old boxer’s temper.  

 

Hell, even Frank hadn’t seen this level of pissed in a long time.  He didn’t scare easy, but his stomach was definitely starting to sink as he turned to face the cowl’s sightless glare.  Frank had fucked up and the Devil had come for his due.  The old soldier held out one hand to Jack, telling him to be quiet, to not draw Matt’s considerable anger his way.  

 

He held out a conciliatory hand, “Easy Red, easy.  Look - ”

 

“I will  _ not _ take it easy, Frank! You are holding an assault rifle with Jack here and an entire warehouse full of meth dealers down there.  What do you think you’re doing?”

 

Matt pointed a gauntleted finger off the edge of the building they were hidden on, gesturing towards the very same warehouse that was, in fact, full of meth peddlers.  Frank, for his part, did not look even a little bit sorry.  Jack, quiet Jack, for his part looked petrified.  His parents had bickered before, but he’d never seen anything like this.

 

“It’s training, Red.  We’ve been working with Jack for a year.  One run in the field isn’t going to wreck him.”

 

“A baptism in blood then, is it?” The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hissed.

 

Frank’s head ticked back like he’d been slapped, “Red.”

 

“Don’t you dare, Frank,” Matt bit out like his damn name was poison before turning to Jack, “Go home.”

 

“But…” Jack tried to protest, moving slightly towards Frank.

 

“I didn’t ask for an opinion, I gave you an order, Jack.  Home,” Matt said through teeth so tightly clenched it was a marvel his jaw didn’t creak.

 

Looking stricken and more than a little sullen, Jack moved off quietly into the night, dodging swiftly over buildings with all the grace of a young deer.  He wasn’t at Matt’s level yet, but when he finally grew into those limbs, he’d be harder to catch than summer rain.  Frank took a second to admire the movement, to be proud of his boy, before facing down the tempest that was Matthew Michael Murdock in full Daredevil regalia.    He was damn sure the only reason he was still standing right now was because Matt wouldn’t hit him in front of the boy.  He was also sure he still had the gun because Matt knew Frank would plant the stock of it across his face before he could blink  Hell, Frank was getting tempted to do it anyway just to prove a point.  Not only was Red threatening to give away his position, but he’d just been dressed down in front of his own kid and not been given a chance to get a word in edgewise.

 

Frank could feel his temper starting to rise to match his on-and-off lover’s, and boy, his moved a  _ lot _ faster.  He opened his mouth to fire back, but Red beat him to it.

 

“Really, Frank? You were going to let  _ this _ be his first excursion in the field? With you? Doing things  _ your  _ way?” 

 

Matt sounded so scandalized that Frank’s admittedly short fuse went up like try kindling.

 

His lover had that effect on him.

 

Curling the edge of his lip back in the beginning of a warning snarl, Frank rounded on the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, “Back off, Red.”

 

It was a warning to ease off while the vigilante still had some control of his formidable temper.  He was giving Matt a chance to back down before he said something he regretted that would make life really uncomfortable for them both...and the kid.  Around the twist of white hot pique that was roiling in his stomach, slowly burning its way up to his chest, he prayed for the thick-headed Devil to take the fucking  _ hint _ .  His head was pounding from how hard the muscles in his jaw were clenched, the pain thumping out a sousa march with his heightening pulse.  Come on Matt, for once in your life, don’t make this hard.

 

“Back off?” At least the little shit was keeping his voice down, “You sneak Jack out without even talking it over with me first so you could do what? Give him his first lesson in how to be a damn murderer?”

 

There it was.

 

Frank could barely hear around the roaring of his heart in his ears as he went over the edge.  Before he was quite sure of what he was doing, he had his free hand in the front of Matt’s uniform, backing him bodily into the shadows while hissing in his face.

 

“Yeah? And what if I want my last living kid to protect the city in a way that doesn’t land a knife between his ribs, Matt?” He let go long enough to jab a finger right where he knew one of his lover’s long scars rested, “You might have the devil’s own fucking luck, but that doesn’t mean he will.  It drives me crazy enough letting you run your fool ass into the ground and I didn’t  _ make _ you.”  

 

He leveled a sharp-edged animal’s stare at the other man, his tone flat and final, “I am not burying any more of my kids.”

 

That shut Matt up.  Hell, it seemed to flat out stun him.  His mouth shut so fast his jaw clicked and his hands, which had previously been balled up into fists, fell loose.  He looked like a puppet with cut strings, all of the fight gone from him in an instant.  See, Matt Murdock had two other powers that only those closest to him ever really found out about; the ability to blindly charge too far ahead and the ability to only realize he’d crossed the line after it was so far behind him he couldn’t even see it anymore.  This was one of those moments.  Frank didn’t bother raising his voice again.  It was enough to watch realization sink onto the other man’s face.  

 

He let his gun thump to the ground at Daredevil’s feet, stepping past him to leave, “He’s my son too, Matt.  We’ve played nice for years, but one day you’re gonna have to own to that.”

 

He sniffed once, sharply, around the old breaks in his nose before disappearing into the night.

 

In his wake, Matt stood in silence, trying to catch his breath around all the emotions.  He was winded from the fear of coming home and finding neither Jack nor the suit they’d had Melvin make for him.  He was beaten bloody inside from the adrenaline-fueled charge across the city, the desperate search for his son.  Finding him there on this building with Frank and those damn guns of his was a one-two punch right to the face.  Then the raw emotion of his lover’s voice buried carefully beneath the monotone facade of detached disdain he had mastered so long ago was the finishing blow.  He felt like he’d gone ten rounds in the ring and nobody had even lifted a finger to him yet.  For a guy who felt so much, Matt could have the emotional maturity of a stone and he knew it, the righteous Murdock anger overtaking any sense of delicacy or tact his years in the courtroom had taught him.

 

Gingerly, he reached down to pick up Frank’s gun, making a small, confused noise when the weight was off.  With mounting suspicion, he unloaded it, rolling the ammunition across his palm and feeling shame grow as he did so.

 

Rubber bullets.

 

“Murdock”, he mused to himself, “You are an asshole”.

 

_____

 

Frank couldn’t say he was surprised to find Jack sitting quietly on the bed in his safehouse when he finally got there after taking some time to calm down from his confrontation with Matt.

 

He played it cool, moving past where the kid was sitting to go putter around in the kitchen making coffee, “Your dad’s gonna throw a fit if you’re not home when he gets back.”

 

Jack pulled his legs up to his chest, tucking his chin against his knees and turning his face away.

 

Shaking his head at the stubbornness of Murdock men, Frank said, “You shouldn’t blame your dad for all that, you know.  I do have a reputation.”

 

“I know,” Jack finally muttered around his own patella.

 

“Worst kept secret in New York, right?” The vigilante walked over with a mug and set it down on the bedside table next to Jack, tapping it pointedly with one finger before going back to get himself one.

 

There was a long silence before Jack’s voice followed him into the shitty little kitchen with the peeling linoleum, “...Why doesn’t dad trust me?”

 

“Is that what’s got you torn up? Champ, your dad wouldn’t have taught you all that ninja shit if he didn’t trust you.  Certainly wouldn’t have gotten you a suit.”

 

“Then why does he think I can’t make up my own mind about what I want to do?” 

 

“Hm?” That got Frank’s attention and he moved to stand in the kitchen doorway.

 

Jack’s voice got a little stronger, “I can make up my own mind about whether I should kill someone or not.  I mean, he did.  Why doesn’t he think I can? I worked so hard….”

 

“Jack...”.

 

“And why doesn’t he trust you not to  _ make _ me do something I think is wrong?!”  

 

The old soldier came over and settled onto the bed next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders, “Hey, hey, easy champ.  Take it easy.”

 

He could practically feel Jack vibrating with pent up emotion beside him, so Frank gave him a little squeeze and kept talking, “Listen for a minute.  Your dad...he’s had a hard life.  Lost a lot of people that mattered.  That does things to a guy...makes them paranoid.”

 

God only knew Frank had been there hard enough he’d left a blast radius in his wake.

 

At his side, Jack was silent, but listening intently, looking for comfort after a confusing and thoroughly upsetting incident.

 

“Now, I’m not saying it’s right what your dad did, losing his shit like that, and I’m not even saying you’ve got to like it.  You’ve just got to understand, that’s all.  Me’n your dad, well, we didn’t even get a chance to wave at normal as it passed by.  We’ve...tried to keep a whole lot of the sharp edges away from you while you were growing up because I guess we wanted you to have a shot at the whole normal thing…”

 

Jack gave him an impressive side-eye that he  _ must  _ have learned from Jessica, his dark eyes full of an expression that was more dry than Death Valley, “Uncle Bucky has a robot arm.”

 

“Point taken,” Frank conceded.

 

At least the kid was starting to unwind a little.

 

He kept at it, “Point is, go ahead and be mad at your dad. Go ahead and give him what-for when you head home tomorrow.  Just don’t punish him.  Let me at least tell him where you are.”

 

“...I can stay here tonight?” 

 

“Only if you let me tell your dad where you are and you go talk to him tomorrow.”

 

It didn’t take the kid long to decide at all.  After all, he might have been scared and put out over the outburst, but Jack had never been cruel.  Frank doubted he even had the capacity for it.  He’d been tender-hearted since he was very small, and not even having his faith thoroughly shaken could rattle that sort of kindness from his bones.  Oh, he could hurt people, sure.  Matt, Frank, Natasha, Barnes, Jones....they’d all taught him how.  But he had Frank and Matt’s sensibilities about it.  Pain could only happen when it wasn’t for the sake of pain.  Torture and hellfire weren’t the kid’s forte, not even the emotional kind.  He said yes after only two minutes of mulling over the deal.  

 

“Good, now put on some sweats.  That stuff will stop a knife, but it chafes like hell if you fall asleep in it,” Frank thumped a knuckle against the reinforced jacket Jack wore.

 

It earned a faint grin from his son and for now that was enough.

 

_____

 

“He wants to be left alone right now, Red.”

 

Frank stared straight ahead, not looking when Matt landed cat soft on the fire escape opposite the safehouse where their son was resting.  He’d expected him sooner or later, so he’d wandered out after Jack had finally dropped off to sleep.  Considering how long it took, Matt must have waited for the same thing, probably camped out on a nearby rooftop until the sounds of his heartbeat drifted into lulled somnambulant patterns.  

 

“Rubber bullets,” Matt said.

 

“Mm.”

 

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” 

 

“Been telling you that for years, altar boy.”

 

“Since before you went gray, anyway,” the Devil huffed, padding over to sit down wearily next to Frank.

 

“Fuck off, you wouldn’t know if I did or not,” the older man snorted.

 

He looked over to see Matt cutting him a razor edge grin, and he couldn’t help reaching out to cuff his ear, “Even if I was going gray, at least half of them are thanks to you.”

 

Matt hissed a little at the rough play and Frank quietly catalogued him.  He had a fresh bruise blooming on his cheek the same colour as a rotten plum.  His lip was the wrong side of busted and he had his weight ever so slightly to his left, favoring it, but not clearly.  Not even really thinking about it, he brought a thumb up to touch the split in that plush lower lip, feeling the heat coming off of the injury.  He turned Matt’s face this way and that with care, whistling low.

 

“Hate to see the other guy.  Take it the docks are minus one meth lab?”

 

“Had to blow off some steam.  Besides, someone had to do it.  Stuff was making its way in through Chinatown.”

 

Frank took his hand away slowly, “Just so long as that someone wasn’t me, huh?”

 

Matt flinched a little, stung.  The older vigilante let it hang in the air though, the proverbial elephant in the room.  He knew the Devil’s silences all too well by now, and this one wasn’t the quiet before the storm.  It wasn’t the pregnant offense that lurked in the scarce moments before Red lost his truly baltic temper.  This was a shamed silence, the kind where Murdock was too busy choking on his own guilt to speak.  Give him enough time and he’d get around to it.

 

“Frank, I’m sorry.”

 

The older man let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, something tight uncoiling along the line of his spine.

 

He let Red talk, “I shouldn’t have done any of that in front of Jack.”

 

“You threatened to throw me off a building,” one of Frank’s heavy brows quirked up ever so slightly.

 

Damn.  Maybe the kid did get some of it from him after all.

 

“Sorry for that too,” Matt intoned, on anxious tenterhooks beside him.

 

Finally taking pity, Frank leaned back on his hands, feeling the rough metal of the fire escape scraping at his calluses, “Yeah well, we’re kind of shit at this whole functional family thing,” he snorted in derisive amusement, “Hell, I shot you in the head on our first date.”

 

“Do  _ not _ tell Jack that.”

 

“Red,” his tone dropped seriously, “Matt...what can we tell him? You and me, we’ve never managed to get our shit together enough to even try living together while he was little.  We’ve just had this series of half-sketched truces his whole life...this far and no farther...and it’s bullshit.  Our son knows more about my prison record than about, y’know,  _ us. _ ”

 

He felt like his chest was collapsing when he sighed, rueful, “I’m not even sure I know that much about  _ us _ .”

 

“Frank…” Christ, it sounded like someone had punched altar boy in the gut.

 

“We can’t do this half-trust thing anymore.  The kid’s suffering because you and I keep waiting for the other one to yank the rug out and fuck up.  We’re so busy trying to figure out where  _ we  _ stand that we’re messing with his footing, too.  I think it’s time for you and I to sack up and realize the other shoe isn’t gonna drop.  We made a  _ kid _ together, Red.  We’ve made this work and nobody’s ended up betrayed or dead.”

 

“...I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you say,” Matt sounded cagey all of a sudden, hiding behind the charming sarcastic humor that was usually enough to dazzle the unwary into buying his deflecting bullshit.

 

Frank was not having it.

 

“Point of no return, Murdock.  Either we move forward as a team, an honest to God team, or we draw the line here.  Jack can’t take it anymore and frankly? Neither can I.”

 

The wariness was back in the younger man’s voice, “...What are you getting at?”

 

“So much for that Columbia degree.  Thank Christ for that ass,” Frank clicked his tongue as he reached down into one of his coat pockets. 

 

He was sure it was in here somewhere from the last assignment he and Fury had run.  His rough fingertips caught over the brassy shell of a spent bullet casing, a nipped off length of fishing line he’d used to suture himself with a few human trafficking rings back.  There was enough lint to make a small animal out of and….ah.  There it was.  His finger caught around the gentle curve of cool metal, warming quickly under his skin.  Feeling more ballsy than he had in years, he pulled it out of his pocket, tapped it a few times quickly on the metal fire escape to get a small vibration going then held it up for Matt to inspect with his radar sense.

 

Matt’s head jerked back a bit in surprise when he realized what was going on before his whole face went utterly still, “Frank Castle.  Tell me you did not just propose to me with a grenade pin.”

 

“Makes you feel any better, it was tear gas.”

 

There was what felt like an eternity of stillness between them before, tentatively, Matt reached out and delicately plucked the dinged little hoop from his hand, “Well, if that’s not an appropriate omen for this marriage, nothing is.”

 

He barely had time to slip it over his finger and say a silent Hail Mary before he was being kissed within an inch of his life.

 

_____

  
  


_ Author’s Notes _

 

  * __Yes.  I am trash.  No, this is NOT what I meant to write.  This thing changed on me like three times.  It was originally supposed to be Jack’s first mission.  Then it was going to be Matt and Frank actually figuring their shit out and setting down ground rules.  Then Frank decided to be an asshole and proposed.__


  * _I wrote this in particular to apologize.  I’m actually in the middle of writing a big part of the story about when Jack was born, but it’s become a runaway monster.  It IS coming, loyal readers.  I’m interweaving MCU and Earth 616 to make MC17’s timeline, and it’s an absolute NIGHTMARE._


  * _Matt’s reference to Chinatown is a direct callback to the latest run of the comics “Back in Black”.  If you are die-hard DD fans, I recommend it._


  * _For anyone interested, Frank HAS used rubber bullets at Matt’s insistence before.  See the “Omega Drive” storyline from Mark Waid’s run.  Improbably ships aside, I’ve been reading DD since I was about 12 and so I try very hard to reference and cross-reference the comics/TV show in everything I write._


  * _For anyone who is curious, yes, Jack WILL develop a power as a result of Matt’s irradiated DNA.  For anybody who would like a stab at guessing, his call sign will be “Recall” when we finally get around to it._


  * _In Rosemary and Old Spice, Jack was almost 16.  As of this story, he’s nearing 17._


  * _I’ll probably write an epilogue to this when I’m less consume with studying for my paralegal exam, play rehearsals, Overwatch, Dragon*Con preparations, and Fallout._


  * _A lot of thanks for this story goes to PunkJunkie, my real life Deardevil and partner in crime.  She’s also one of the best Karen Page POV writers out there, so I do recommend you give her work a read.  Also, thank you, thank you, THANK you to all of my readers, even those who remain silent.  You're wonderful.  
_



 

 


End file.
